Le Sang est Meilleur que le Chocolat
by Miranda Chandreux
Summary: Everyone dreams of immortality, but few ever get the chance to live that dream. Willy Wonka does and it changes everything about him. WARNING: vampiric violence, sexuality, and 'character death' featured in this story.
1. Chapter 1

Everyone knew that Willy Wonka never left his factory, not even to walk about the spacious yard in front where the delivery trucks were filled once a week before they rumbled out to the local candy shoppes and to the airport, where the sweets would be loaded onto airplanes to be delivered to shoppes all over the world. What no one could understand was why the chocolatier stayed inside all the time. Since his factory was built, he had been seen outside of it a total of two times. Once was at the ceremony celebrating the completion of the factory and the introduction of Wonka sweets to a global market. The other occasion was for a very brief amount of time prior to the grand tour he'd given to the finders of the five Golden Tickets he'd hidden inside five rather ordinary Wonka Bars.

Even on these two occasions, Mr. Wonka had been bundled in several layers of clothing, leaving only his face and a very small portion of his throat bare. To everyone who had been able to see him, it had appeared that Mr. Wonka was, to put it bluntly, afraid of sunlight. This is not too far from the truth, in some respect. However, Mr. Wonka's situation is far more complicated than a simple phobia. It began shortly after he made the decision to build a factory, when he was only 21 years old.

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Willy Wonka sat in a swivelling chair at one end of a small conference table, twisting back and forth as he sucked on an impossibly bright blue lollipop. "Well, if things could go as I'd like them to, you'd be finished by the end of the year and then I could have my team start assembling everything that will go inside. But, since this is already June, I think that would be a bit of a stretch for any contractor, even one with such a reputation as yours. So how does mid-November of next year sound? Think you can get it done by then, Mr. Wheeler?"

Mr. Daniel Wheeler, a slightly pudgy man of 56, sighed and leaned forward in his chair to check over his calendar. He'd already had to cancel several well-paying jobs in order to accommodate this factory, but to have to build it to Wonka's very precise specifications (the blueprints were absolutely terrifying in their scale and level of detail) in just over a year was asking quite a lot from a man who had never in his 37 years of work seen anything quite like this. "Well, I can't promise you anything. You see, we're forced to slow up a bit during the winter. But I'm sure you understand that. You said you grew up not far from here."

"I do have a business to run and at the rate that my sweets are selling, I can barely keep up with the small facilities I have available to me."

"Trust me, I understand completely. Look, here's what I can do for you. My company has a warehouse downtown that we usually use for storing our machinery and such, but right now, it's empty. You give me another 65 percent of what you've already said you'll pay for us to build this factory and I'll let you use that warehouse to help ease your company's load until the factory is up and running. How does that sound to you?"

"65 percent? Mr. Wheeler, I'm sorry, but that's ridiculous! I'm not giving you that much. How about 25 percent?"

"And that, Mr. Wonka, is ridiculous for me. I can't possibly go that low. 55 percent then?"

"I'm sorry. I just can't afford that. 35 percent?"

"Make it 40 and you have a deal."

Willy sat back in his chair to consider his options. On the one hand, he could not take the deal, try to keep up with demand using his small facility, and eventually go out of business. On the other hand, he could take the deal he was being offered, have room to expand his sweet-making until the factory was ready, and be able to continue running his business like always. Either way, he would be taking a risk he would rather avoid. Then again, taking a risk had gotten him into this business in the first place; how different was this, really? "Mr. Wheeler..."

"Yes, Mr. Wonka?" Wheeler motioned for one of his office assistants to retrieve the paperwork that would need to be signed in order for this part of the deal to go through properly. The slim, blonde woman nodded and retreated from the room.

"You...you have a deal. I must be crazy, but you have a deal."

Wheeler came around to shake Willy's hand and thank him for bringing his business needs to Wheeler Enterprises just as the office assistant came back in with a small stack of papers. "Thank you, Veronica. If you could get started on processing everything that's already been signed, we can get started first thing Monday. Well, Mr. Wonka," Wheeler said, giving the young man a hearty slap on the back. "Young men who've come in here needing a contractor always seem to be a bit crazy to me, but you...you've got to be the craziest one of them all. You have a good evening. I'll check in with you once a week to let you know how things are going."

Within the next few minutes, Willy had signed over several million dollars to this contractor whom he knew by reputation alone. I really must be out of my mind, he though to himself, as he walked outside to where his small car was waiting for him in the bright halogen light of a street-lamp. With only a glance up at the building he'd just exited, Willy climbed into the car and drove off to his home. A few blocks away, waiting patiently in the shadows for Willy's car to pass so it could follow, was a black limousine carrying a passenger anyone would be chilled to the marrow if they met during the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**_later that evening..._**

Willy's home was not spacious, but it had every luxury a man of his means could possibly want. Since moving in, Willy had managed to acquire a couch large enough for six people to sit on (not that he had any friends to invite over), a television set that came up almost as high as his chest (not that he ever watched it), and various other bits and pieces that made his home life pleasurable. The only thing that he really missed was companionship: someone to come home to, someone to ask 'How was your day, Willy?' and console him when business wasn't going as well as he had hoped or congratulate him when a new sweet was selling successfully. He hadn't ever really had that, except from his mother and that wasn't the same thing, was it? And after all, he hadn't seen her since he was eight years old...

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_There had been no trace of what might have happened to her. The evidence pointed to her just packing up and leaving, and not wanting to be found seeing as there hadn't been any sort of note to say where she had gone. But, as Willy's father had been quick to point out to the police, all of Mrs. Wonka's possessions were still in the house. Nothing had gone missing, not even a toothbrush. _

The only thing that anyone knew was that Mrs. Wonka had been at home alone, doing a bit of mending. When Mr. Wonka and Willy got back from meeting with Willy's teacher at school, Mrs. Wonka was gone. They immediately called the police because, with the absence of a note, it frightened them both to think that she might have been carried off. The police sent officers to every shoppe and home in town to ask if anyone at all had seen Mrs. Wonka that night. No one had...

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Willy snapped out of his trance-like flashback when he heard the soft clicking sound of his front door being opened and shut. _'Odd, I could have sworn I closed that,'_ he thought, pausing in the middle of brushing his teeth. That lollipop he'd eaten during the meeting with Mr. Wheeler had stained his entire mouth blue and he hated the thought of going to bed like that. After rinsing his mouth of the minty toothpaste, Willy stepped out into the hall and looked down it towards the entryway. There was no sign that what he had heard was dangerous, nothing was moved about or missing, but that didn't necessarily mean that everything was alright.

Deciding that a closer look was in order, Willy grabbed the fire-poker from its stand in his bedroom (he had no fireplace, but kept the tools anyway; there was just no knowing when they might come in handy), then turned and began to creep down the hall. His heartbeat was steadily gathering speed as he crept along the hall, gripping the fire-poker as if it were a sword. A small rustling sound made Willy jump. His heart was racing now and his palms were clammy and sweaty. Nothing there, except for a piece of crumpled paper he vaguely remembered dropping there that morning. And then came the voice, for which Willy could find no source. It almost seemed to be coming from inside his head.

_Hello, Willy. There's nothing to be afraid of._

"Who-who's there? How did you get in?"

_Oh, that doesn't really matter, now does it, Willy? You see, the only thing that matters is that I have come for you._

"C-come for me? But I-"

_It is not necessary that you understand,_ the voice said curtly, cutting Willy off as if the owner of the voice had known what Willy was going to say before he said it. _Do you see that piece of paper on the floor? Pick it up._

Willy's hand was shaky as he bent down slowly to retrieve the paper.

_Throw it in the nearest wastebasket._

Willy complied, choosing the one in the bathroom. "What happens now," he asked, still looking all around for the source of this voice that frightened him so.

_Now I want you to go around the house and straighten up. This place is a mess._

Even as he did what the voice was wanting him to do, something started to surface in the back of Willy's mind that made this encounter all the more disturbing. This was far too much like the circumstances of his mother's disappearance.

The voice laughed. _I see you're starting to connect things. Good, good. I was hoping I wouldn't have to explain myself later._

"You mean you were the one who-"

_Took your mother? Killed her? Ripped her body to pieces and buried them all in separate graves miles apart so they would never be found and, even if they were, not identified as part of the same body because by then, all the flesh would have been gone?_

Willy shuddered and the colour started to drain from his smooth, olive-toned face. Just the thought of anyone being capable of such horrors made his stomach turn. Then he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, letting it out as slowly as he could. He still had the fire-poker in his left hand, but something told him that it would be useless against this foe. "Why did you kill my mother?"

"I wanted to."

The sudden audibility of the voice, a rich yet icy feminine sound, made Willy scream and swing the fire-poker wildly. It connected with something, but Willy never saw what because the poker was torn from his grasp just as the lights in the room went out. It was very dark now and just a pale fuzzy outline could be seen of a tall figure standing across the room from him. Willy was completely vulnerable now and the only thing he could think of doing to protect himself was to crouch down low to the ground and crawl to the nearest wall.

"As I said before, there is nothing to be afraid of."

"Oh," Willy asked as sarcastically as his fear would allow. "And why should I not be afraid of you, when you will most likely kill me?"

"Because it is only your body that dies. Your mind will continue living."

"But how is that possible? And how can you speak in my mind?"

"I shall tell you when this is all over. You will be able to do it too, once I have taught you how." The voice was now directly behind him.

Willy was about to scream when something cold that felt very much like a dead body pressed up against Willy's back. This sudden cold made Willy draw in his breath sharply. The contact was so much more intimate than anything he'd felt before, he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. _'But if this_ is _a dead body, then wouldn't my reaction be considered necrophilia?'_

A pair of hands that were equally as cold as the body wrapped around Willy's chest, one reaching up to unbutton his shirt. The other held him in place so lightly, yet with such force that there was no possibility of escape. Willy could feel the strangely warm breath of his captor on the back of his neck as his shirt was removed and dropped to the floor. His heart pounded in his chest as one of the icy hands tilted his head to one side and back a little.

"Relax. Do not be afraid, Willy. Everything will be alright in the end," his captor whispered. Delicately, she licked and then kissed the pulse point just below his jawline, as if trying to soothe and prepare him for the death that would ultimately come.

Willy took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. _'If this is my time to die, then let me die quickly,'_ he thought.

_This is not a time to die. It is a time to live. I am sorry to say the process will not be quick,_ his captor said once more in his head, before a sharp pain in his neck caused Willy to let out a strangled scream and struggle against the arms that held him in place.

He felt as if his heart would burst, so great was the pressure placed on it as something seemed to be draining him of blood. He tried to take in breath and scream for help, but found that his lungs would no longer inflate enough for him to make a sound. Just when he thought that he actually would die, the pain stopped and he felt himself being turned around to face his captor.

He still could not make out her face, but all he could think about in that moment was how incredibly thirsty he was. His left hand, though weak, came up and brushed against the soft skin of his captor's throat. He could feel her pulse much easier than he could before. Perhaps this is what happens to those who are about to die?

"Willy, you know what you must do. Do not waste time." Her voice was soft, not as icy as it had seemed only moments before.

Willy hesitated as he stared at his captor's neck, just barely visible in the dim light. "What will happen to me when I do?"

"It will begin the process that will slowly turn you into what I am. If you want to die, then by all means, I can leave you here. But-" Her voice cut off as Willy latched onto her throat, piercing the flesh with the barely-formed fang teeth in the upper part of his mouth. There were no words between them for a moment, only the rustling of clothing as their bodies shifted and the faint sound of Willy swallowing mouthfuls of hot, near scalding blood.

When it seemed he could take in no more, Willy pulled back and breathed in deeply. He felt drunk and yet, at the same time, more lucid than he had ever been before. "If this is what being dead and being alive is truly like, I don't know why I ever feared it," he said, taking a step back and promptly stumbling. He would have fallen if his burgundy-haired companion (for 'captor' no longer seemed the correct word) hadn't caught him.

"Not so fast, Willy. You're still too weak to be making any sudden moves. It will still be several hours at least before you can move about as you wish. Come," she said, wrapping one arm around his waist. "Let me take you somewhere you can rest. You will need all the sleep you can get. When you wake, your new life will begin."


	3. Chapter 3

_fifteen years later..._

"You know, Willy, I still don't understand why you don't give up this foolish sweet-making business. Yes, it brings you money, but there are many other more worthy things you could be doing with your time. I think you were much better off when you closed-"

"Brielle, I don't want to hear it. You should leave if you don't like the way I do things."

Brielle dropped the chocolate bar she was holding into a bin on a cart being pushed past by a pair of Oompa Loompas. The Oompa Loompas cringed and walked faster to get away from the extremely pale woman. "You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me. Might I remind you who it was that had a crazed employee try to kill him shortly after this factory opened, once it was discovered what had happened to him that caused him to be so reclusive? And do I really have to remind you who it was that saved said assassination target? Who nursed him and brought him fresh blood for nearly a month until he was-"

"Enough," Willy shouted, overturning a tray of glass lab equipment in his anger. "I don't need you to sit around and patronize me for my career choices. I had enough of that from my father when he found out that I wanted to be a chocolatier. I don't need it from you, my only companion on this dark road, as well."

Brielle was stunned. In the fifteen years she had been living with her fledgling, never once had he ever shouted at her in this manner. In fact, she couldn't recall a single time that he had even raised his voice to her. She remained still for a long time, just staring at Willy, whose face was flushing deeply with the blood he'd consumed earlier in the evening. But as soon as she recovered, she slipped off the stool she'd been perching on and removed her coat from the rack in one corner. "If that is how you truly feel about me, then perhaps it is time I left you to your own devices. After all, I can't spend the rest of my years with a fledgling to whom I can't even speak anymore. Once my blood combined with yours, my ability to speak with you in your mind vanished and I am forced to speak with you as a mortal would. I despise mortals and yet, day by day, _you_ try ever harder to remain in their world. Well, I won't stay here and watch you descend into madness. For mark my words, that is where you are headed." She paused long enough to slip into her coat and button up the front, then put on the leather gloves which she'd hidden in the pockets. "I would say 'goodbye', but that sort of sentiment would imply that I wished to see you again and I do not. So I shall say nothing else." Bowing slightly, Brielle turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door shut as she went.

After Brielle left, Willy dropped to his knees, utterly confused as to what had just happened. The events leading up to Brielle's departure were all tumbling about in his brain, but somehow, he was unable to put them in order. Was what she said true? Would all of this really drive him mad? Without Willy there to hold everything together, the company would fall apart and the Oompa Loompas would either be deported back to Loompa Land or they'd be used in scientific experiments. Just the thought of either option happening to the poor, innocent beings Willy had come to care for over the years they'd been living and working in the factory made him shudder. There just had to be something he could do to keep them safe.

Willy puzzled over all of his options, each one more horrible than the last. On the one hand, he could simply carry on as he had been and hope that Brielle had been lying about his going mad. On the other hand, he could do as she had suggested and give up on the business entirely. That one would certainly have to be a last resort.But then he remembered something that he'd been considering during the time that he'd had the factory closed several years ago. He'd been thinking of, instead of closing the factory, handing the entire company over to someone else, but of course only after teaching them everything they would need to know about running a global sweet-making business. But who could he really trust with something this important?

There was always Daniel Wheeler, the contractor Willy had worked with on building the factory. Some time early in the building process, Daniel had mentioned having a dream when he was younger of working for a sweet company, but he had switched over to being a contractor because he'd realized that, in the long run, contracting would probably be much more profitable for him. The news that Willy wanted him to take over the company for him would be wonderful for Daniel, at least if Willy's assumptions about the man were correct, but there was one small problem. Could Willy actually trust Daniel to run things they way they always had been once Willy left or would he just change things to the way _he_ thought they should be? In the back of his mind, Willy knew that would be the case with just about anyone he asked. Everyone wanted to do things their way, without any regard for the way they'd been done in the past.

In fact, the only people you could honestly trust to be true to their word were children. Every child Willy had ever listened in on the thoughts of, for the most part, kept to their word and were completely honest, most of the time. Yes, even children had their faults, Willy remembered how horrid he'd been at times when he was a child, but on the whole, you could trust a child with your life. After muddling over it for a moment, Willy knew this was his only option: find as perfectly honest and good a child as he could and virtually raise him, or her, to run the company. Of course the child couldn't be too young or too old. Too young and they simply wouldn't be able to understand what it was he wanted them to do. Too old and, well, depending on how old, they would be far too much like an adult for Willy to be able to mould them how he wanted. But how to actually go about the process of finding this child? Searching through their minds would take too long and asking them to- Willy stopped mid-thought. The idea was so simple. It was so crazy that it might actually work. _Ask children to come to the factory and meet with them to determine what they are like and if they are good enough for my purposes._


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you sure about this, Mr. Wonka? Well, what I mean is, we won't be disturbing you in any way?" Mrs. Bucket twisted her apron strings nervously about her fingers. She had never in her life felt more intimidated than she did at this moment. Mr. Wonka was wearing a rather bizarre (to her anyway) style of clothing.

His coat was black, as was everything else he wore except for the shirt (a soft charcoal gray), gloves (they made his hands appear to be covered in fresh blood), and of course the silver 'W' pin at his throat. In the flourescent lights of the stark white hall, his skin was incredibly pale. It did not have that healthy olive tone she'd been expecting from old newspaper clippings her father had at home, but had the appearance of very pale stone, but not quite alabaster. It looked almost unnatural and too smooth to be real.

"Of course not, Mrs. Bucket. It only makes sense that Charlie and his family should move into the factory. Charlie would be closer to me, you would be closer to Charlie. It would be incredibly awkward if Charlie was only able to come here after school for a short time before going home. This makes much more sense in the long run. Don't you agree?"

"Well, I can only trust that you know what you're doing, Mr. Wonka. You are quite a bit more knowledgeable than I am in these matters," Mr. Bucket said, tightening his grip a little on Mrs. Bucket's shoulder.

"Wonderful," Mr. Wonka said, flashing a brief and toothless smile. "These rooms were specifically picked out for you by the Oompa Loompas who care for the living quarters. And don't worry about Charlie and your parents. They have already been taken care of. For now, relax and enjoy." Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Wonka pulled out a long, thin key and handed it to Mr. Bucket. Then, with a tip of his hat, Mr. Wonka turned on his heel and walked back in the direction he had come.

_**later that evening...**_

After eating the delicious meal brought to them by an Oompa-Loompa who, with many communication issues, introduced himself as Dennis, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket sat themselves down in the plush armchairs positioned in front of the large fireplace to discuss the unusual things that had occured in the past few days.

"I know I should just trust him and let things go how they will, but isn't there something about Mr. Wonka that's...well, a little disturbing," Mrs. Bucket asked, nibbling on the nails of her left hand.

"I admit he is a bit odd," Mr. Bucket said with a sigh. " But I don't think it's anything to worry about. Charlie and your father know more about him than we do and neither of them seem worried." When his wife made only a small noise of displeasure in response to what he'd said, he reached over and took hold of her free hand. "Helena, listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. What Mr. Wonka said earlier makes perfect sense. If Charlie is really to inherit this factory one day, there's going to be a lot of changes. If Charlie were to go to school every day and then to the factory for a few hours, it would cause quite a bit of trouble for everyone. Mr. Wonka's a very reclusive man, you know that from everything that's been in the media about him, so from that angle it's understandable because he would just be attracting unwanted attention to himself from us being able to come and go from the factory as we please."

Helena sighed. "I suppose you're right. But don't expect me to be getting all chummy with him just yet. There's something...unnatural about him, Noah. I can't quite place it, but he seems to be a lot more dangerous than those other children who came to the factory made him out to be. Even Charlie's a little frightened of him."

"Frightened? Impossible. Charlie's just...well, he's intimidated, yes, but look at what's happened to him in the past couple of days. He got a once-in-a-lifetime chance to tour the most glorious sweet-making factory in the world, then was told that he was to be the heir to the entire business when Wonka finally decides to retire, _and_ his entire family gets to move into the factory. How could that possibly _not_ be intimidating for a young boy?

"But I must admit he is a bit odd-looking. Maybe it's just the light, but did you notice how pale he looked? Almost like he were made of stone."

Helena nodded. "Yes, I did notice. And he doesn't appear to have aged at all from the first photos I saw of him back when he first opened the factory. It's been, what, nearly fifteen years since then. You would think he'd have changed at least a little bit."

"Helena, how do we know he doesn't just take very good care of himself? Your friend Karen, from secondary school, she kept getting mistaken for a teenager all the way up to the day she died."

At this, Helena managed a smile and laughed a little. "Oh, I remember how much she used to hate that. Always yelling that she was not a teenager and she could in fact buy alcohol legally, thank you very much. I think she would have been happy to know that her first obituary said she had 'died so young, just a tender young flower' and her husband had to ring up the paper and remind them Karen was 31 when she died." She paused and stared into the fire. "How did Karen die anyway? I know someone at the toothpaste factory managed to find out, but they never really publicized it."

"Oh, you know what Bill's like. I doubt it was even true, what he said the police found. He said that the medical examiner found no reason for Karen to have died except for one thing that seemed very suspicious. Her body was completely drained of blood, but there was no marks to suggest that anyone had stuck a needle or whatever into her to drain her blood. Only mark on her body was a large bite of some sort just above her left breast. It didn't have any blood on or in it, so the medical examiner wrote down that it had been made post-mortem and was likely done by a stray dog or some other creature that was hungry."

Helena cringed. "Ergh, that's horrible. Just the thought of some dog trying to make a meal of Karen. But...you said the blood was drained from her body and there was no sign of how it could have been done except for that bite? It sounds almost like those horrid vampire stories Charlie enjoys reading."

"Don't be rediculous. Vampires don't even exist. If they did, I'm sure they wouldn't leave their victims' bodies where anyone can find them. And I'm sure they're not nearly as cruel as you think they are. I've always been fascinated by them. I read one of Charlie's vampire books and I loved it. There was a certain sensuality to the whole world the vampires inhabit in that book. Absolutely marvelous."

In another room, at the far end of the factory from where the Buckets were quartered, Willy sat in a plush armchair watching on a surveillance screen the conversation Helena and Noah Bucket were having. He could have listened in on it through reading their minds, but it took far more energy to read two minds at once and besides, when reading a mind, the subject nearly always got a feeling that someone unseen was watching them. Rarely did they figure out what was truly going on, but there was no reason to take the unnecessary risk.

Having heard enough to satisfy his curiousity for the time being, Willy turned off the screen, leaving the room in near silence, the only sound being the barely audible hum of the factory machines. Letting out a long, slow breath, he closed his eyes, smiling at the way Noah Bucket praised vampires, despite the fact that he believed them to be wholly imaginary beings. It was almost as if the man wished that vampires were real and that he could-

Willy sat up quickly and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to suppress the images rising in his mind. He could not give in to these selfish desires. Not now. Had he run into Noah six months ago, before he'd discovered the thin child who took the long way home from school each day to keep the smell of chocolate and other sweets in his nose as long as possible, before he'd taken that child home and seen the almost beautiful man that was Charlie's father... He had to go out, get away from the factory for a while. He needed to find a poor, unmissed, and certainly unloved individual and drain them. Perhaps he would even take a leaf out of his mentor's book and tear the corpse into pieces. Anything to supress this awful lust for blood.


End file.
